


13.01 Coda - Dream of Me

by Jdragon122



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13.01 coda, Angst, Dean and Jack talk, Dean's Confession, Dean's nightmares, M/M, Pain, Season/Series 13, Season/Series 13 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jdragon122/pseuds/Jdragon122
Summary: 13.01 coda ~ Written after the first episode of season 13“Sam has told me about love, that it is the reason I am here,” the nephilim continued to examine his fingers. “My mother loved me, and so did my father. They died for me,” Jack paused, “But Sam also said that love can be very painful, that's why I feel sad — why I feel... guilty. I am the reason my parents are dead.” Jack’s face fell, looking up at Dean with wide eyes.“Is that what you feel?”





	13.01 Coda - Dream of Me

It was dark in Dean’s room. The lights had long since been dimmed, the bed sheets pulled up to the hunter’s shoulders, and empty bottles scattered across the floor.

Dean's doesn’t remember going to bed, but everything is how it should be. His door is closed, the room utterly silent with nothing to hear but the sound of his breathing; slow, tired, and heavy. He can't remember why his room was littered with discarded glass, all he knew is that their reflective surfaces glinted back at him, watching with a pitiful glow through their clear eyes.

Dean closed his eyes, turning away from their stares, but the glow still shone through his lids — it was too bright, too painful. He rolled over onto his side, forcing his face against the pillow.

Still too bright.

Fine. He would ignore it.

But he couldn't fall asleep, everything was right but, something was wrong, something was… missing. What was it? Feathers, a coat, a tie...

Aw yes. He remembered now.

Castiel.

Dean buried himself further into the sheets, his brow furrowing as he forced himself not to think. He didn't need this — he didn't need any of this. He just needed one thing, and he could never have it.

Stop. Go to sleep.

Sleep came painfully slow, his mind fading in small increments until the dark finally enveloped him, pulled him into the lulling void.

Then felt it, a dip in his bed.

“Dean.” The voice made him freeze, the soft gravel tone pinning him to his bed. “Dean,” the voice moved closer, brushing the sheets and leaning over him.

Dean kept his eyes shut, breathing deeply — in and out, as was his routine. “You're not real…” he murmured.

“Dean,” it was quiet this time, a warmth creeping up the back of his neck, dangerously close. A hand touched his face, “Dean, please look at me.”

“No, you're not real.” The hand moved to stroke his cheek. Dean tensed at the sensation, gritting his teeth and willing it to go away.

“Stop.”

“Dean.”

“Stop it.”

“But —”

“You're not real!”

Hands grabbed his wrists and Dean instinctively fought against them.

“No!”

“But Dean I need to tell you!”

“No!!!” Dean could feel the tears burning behind his closed eyelids. “Stop!!” He shouted, he screamed, but the hands wouldn't let go.

He wanted to open his eyes, wanted to see Cas kneeling over him, but he knew he couldn't.

“Dean —” the hands tightened painfully.

“CAS STOP!” The light brightened, blinding him even without seeing. He opened his eyes.

Dean was shaking, his body covered in sweat as he took heavy breaths. He blinked. The hands were still wrapped around his wrists, white at the knuckles and stronger than should be humanly possible. Dean looked up.

Jack stared at Dean in the darkness, unblinking golden eyes set upon him. Dean didn’t breathe, staying stock still like a deer staring down a lion. He flinched when the nephilim moved, slowly releasing his grip.

Dean straightened abruptly, climbing up and away from the half angel. When he realized the wetness on his cheeks he hastily wiped them away.

Dean managed to calm down enough to stare back at the nephilim, who had settled on the bed, a safe distance away from him. Jack wore the same expression that had been plastered on his face since the day he was born; a furrowed brow, knit with confusion, and wonder. Dean just stared.

The nephilim looked down at his hands, flexing his still new fingers, watching the skin stretch and retract; a cat examining its claws.

“I heard you,” he said, the room echoing with his words. “You seem distressed, I thought I could help.”

Dean swallowed, words still unwilling to aid him. Jack’s face hardened, the set line of his mouth sliding downward. “You called my father's name. Why?”

Dean scanned his face, the genuine curiosity suggesting no ill will. But how could he trust the son of a snake, a killer waiting to discover its true nature? He tried to open his mouth, but it felt like sandpaper.

At Dean’s silence, the nephilim spoke again, “Did you — care for my father?”

Dean wet his lips. “Yes,” he managed to squeeze out the word.

“Did you — love him?”

“What?” the automatic reply sounded natural, but Dean could feel his stomach churn.

“Sam has told me about love, that it is the reason I am here,” the nephilim continued to examine his fingers. “My mother loved me, and so did my father. They died for me,” Jack paused, “But Sam also said that love can be very painful, that's why I feel sad — why I feel... guilty. I am the reason my parents are dead.” Jack’s face fell, looking up at Dean with wide eyes.

“Is that what you feel?”

Dean opened his mouth, swallowing past the lump in his throat, “It’s not the same,” he said, watching the nephilim carefully.

“It's not?” Jack tilted his head, sending a painful pang through Dean’s heart.

“I — I still feel those things… but,” Dean turned away, “but, pain is different. There's many types of pain.”

“Sam has not told me of this.”

“Because we're going through it. It'd be like putting salt in an open wounds,” Dean mumbled into his palms, letting his face rest in his hands.

“That sounds rather unpleasant.”

Dean couldn't help but chuckle, a soft, dry laugh that shook his frame, “Yeah, yeah it is.”

They were both silent for a while, Jack awkwardly examining the blanket while Dean’s eyes stared blankly at the wall. Dean sighed.

“Yes,” Dean's gruff words rolled smoothly now.

“Yes what?” Jack asked.

“Yes, I loved your… father.”

Dean could hear the smile that spread on the nephilim’s face. Dean frowned at him.

“Father loved you too,” he said with excitement, “His thoughts were very clear, it makes me… happy to know that you felt the same. I'm sure he would be too.” Jack stood up, his smile fading as he looked back at Dean. “I hope you sleep better now, I myself need some rest,” Jack reached for the door, almost touching the handle when he stopped, “I'm sorry.” He sounded uncertain.

“For what?” Dean asked, the sudden change taking him by surprise.

Jack turned around, sadness and guilt softening his features, “For killing the man you loved.”

Dean stared in shock as Jack walked out of the room, closing the door noiselessly and leaving the hunter once again with his company of glass. Dean sat in silence, the strange conversation replaying in his mind.

Jack’s words clung to his brain like honey to a hive, settling deeper and deeper until it finally stuck.

_ The man you loved. _

Dean's mouth was dry, his eyes suddenly wet. No, no more. Please, he begged.

_ You loved... _

“You loved him,” Dean grit through his bitter tears, the mess streaming down his face, “You loved him, you fucking coward.” He tried to swallow it down, accept the consequence of his idiocy and move on.

But a voice whispered in his ear, breath hot on his face, a phantom kiss, “You loved me.”

“I loved you,” Dean agreed.

Dean lay back down on his bed, burying his head once again in the pillows, letting his sleep drown him in fantasy. When the dreams returned and he felt Cas’s hands on him, he let himself be touched, let the dream say the words he so desperately needed to hear. But he kept his eyes closed, he kept himself in the dark. It was still too painful, too close to what could’ve been — and always would be.


End file.
